


Finding Ford

by SanAndrogynous



Category: Gravity Falls, Grunkle Stan - Fandom, Rick Sanchez - Fandom, Rick and Morty, Stan Pines - Fandom, Stanley Pines - Fandom, stanchez - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-07
Updated: 2016-07-07
Packaged: 2018-07-22 03:26:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7417777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SanAndrogynous/pseuds/SanAndrogynous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stan’s been caring for the Mystery shack for a solid decade now so he knows how to deal with most of the weird shit that happens in Gravity falls, what he doesn’t know how to deal with is the unpredictable man who turns up on his doorstep looking for Stanley’s twin brother.</p><p>Violence, Drug use, drinking, swearing, and sexual situations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finding Ford

10 years into owning the Mystery Shack, Stan had learned two things. One, that people didn’t actually want to believe in the things they were seeing, and two, when the police knock at the door they have a very distinctive pattern, four curt raps in succession, increasing in volume, and ending with a scrape as the knuckle drops off the door. That, to Stan, was an immediate warning to hide all incriminating evidence, and it had come in handy on many occasions.

The knocking at his door this evening was harder to place. Angry? Dad wouldn’t be here, hopefully, and the numerous people he’d ripped off tended to be a fair few states away before they realised, if they ever did. Maybe it was panicked knocking? Either way he wanted to avoid anyone frantic, especially if they got violent. He put down the glue and the half a hare he’d been sticking onto a fish head, and went to grab his trusty baseball bat.

He opened the door slowly and peered out. Standing on the doorstep was a bedraggled, somewhat damp looking man, looked about Stan’s age, probably older but not by much. He was scrawny, although the huge red parka he was wearing made it hard to be sure.

“You gonna let me in?” He grumbled. Stan tightened his grip on the bat.

“I don’t know you.” He growled.

The man pushed back his hood, freeing the pushed back blueish hair. The stranger smiled.

“C’mon Sixer, I’m sorry for leaving you behind in C-172, live and let live! Y-y-you made it back home alright anyway.”

‘Sixer?’ Stan thought, stunned to hear his brother’s nickname. Stanley shrugged internally, figuring if he was taking over for his brother here, he may as well try to keep his companions existent. Although he was surprised Ford still had anyone willing to call on him. ‘Besides.’ Stan thought, ‘He might know where Ford is.

“Uh, sure, fine, come on in.”

Stan tried to subtly drop the baseball bat in the umbrella stand but found it was stuck to his hand, panicking slightly Stan tried to hide it behind his back whilst he opened the door and let the man in.

“The living room’s the first door on the right, i’ll meet you in there, i just have to… turbo lock this door, or something.”

“T-turbo lock? Jeez, paranoid much?” The scrawny man said as he wandered past Stan and into the living room.

Stan pushed the bolt closed and dashed to the kitchen, throwing open cupboards and drawers, trying to find the glue remover. He was sure he’d left it in the kitchen somewhere but he couldn’t seem to find it, not that the unwieldy bat stuck in his hand was helping at all.

“Hey, have y-you got anything to drink in this place?” Called the stranger, sauntering into the kitchen. Stan froze, one hand jammed into the cutlery draw, and the other resting on the counter, bat still firmly stuck. The other man halted too, looking unimpressed at the scene in front of him.

“You alright there Fordy?” he asked

Stan just stared, unsure of what to do. He couldn’t think of a decent lie to get him out of this, or anything he could do, he was sure the scrawny man had already seen the bat. There was only one thing he could think to do.

Stan jerked his hand out of the drawer and ran at the other man, yelling as he raised the bat over his own head.

“Woah Jesus!” yelped the skinny man as he dived out of the way. “What the hell are y-you doing asshole!?”

Not sure how to reply, Stan took another swing at the man, putting his whole body behind the swing. The man reacted quickly, pulling out an odd looking gun and shooting the bat in half, leaving a splintered handle in Stan’s hand.

Stan was stunned. Which under these circumstances wasn’t surprising.

“Who are you!?” Yelled the skinny man, holding the gun up again, this time pointing it at Stan’s head. “Who the FUCK are you!?”

“Who.. who am I?! Who are you?!” Stan yelled back.

The stranger moved towards the door, readying himself to bolt if he had to.

“I asked first shit-for-brains!”

Stan grumbled, putting his hands up in surrender as best he could, considering he was still firmly glued to the handle of what used to be a semi-useful weapon.

“Yeesh, alright, alright, you’ve got the gun i guess. I’m Stanley Pines, Stanford’s twin brother.”

The man lowered his gun a little.

“Ford never mentioned a twin..”

Stan had almost expected that response, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

“Of course he didn’t “ Stan muttered.

The skinny man looked Stan up and down before tucking the gun back into his coat.

“The name’s Rick. Have you got any Whiskey in?”

–

The man who was apparently called Rick, stared at Stan with leisure, lightly holding his whiskey glass from above with his slender fingers. Without his winter coat it became obvious that almost all of the man was slender. Stan looked down at his own chubby fingers and the way they rested in his lap, cradling the tumbler awkwardly. His right palm was red and slightly swollen from easing the handle of the bat off. Even with glue remover the task proved to be slightly… rippy.

Rick broke the silence. “So, Ford’s not here then.”

“No.”

“N-not even, hiding in some weird secret cupboard or in the basement or som-something?”

“If he is then I’m gonna be pissed.” Stan chuckled. Rick stared at him, deadpan. His glare was almost invasive and Stan looked away awkwardly.

If Rick was looking for something in Stan’s expression then he didn’t find it, he sat back in his chair and downed his drink. Stan followed suit, hoping alcohol would perhaps solve this situation, as it had in so many other similar situations. If there was one thing that Stan knew it was that alcohol built bridges where there were previously none.

Rick had other, slightly more intense ideas.

“Ha-have you ever tried any kind of Neptunian-Stimulant?” Rick asked.

“Neptunian wha-?”

“Th-they’re rare but they’re worth it.” Rick dug into his labcoat and pulled out a ball of murky blue foil.

“Th-this is Neptunian Shlmeepite, it’s like Mandy and LSD had a baby and that baby lived off steroids and the hearts of wolves for 30 years.” Rick smirked as he unballed the foil to reveal the fine pink powder. “It’s pretty amazing, probably the only thing that could make this house actually feel like a fun place to be.”

Stan wasn’t new to this kind of thing, he’d done a lot of drugs in his life, and he knew full well that you shouldn’t take drugs from strangers. He also knew that not once in his life had he followed that advice. He always followed his strict personal rule of ‘free is free, just get as far away from them as you can in case they’re a creep.’ Of course the rules changed sometimes. For instance, this man was in Ford’s house, looking for ford, and had mentioned having seen him recently, probably more recently than Stan had. Sure he’d come here to find Ford so he obviously didn’t know exactly where Ford was, but he had a clue and the means to get to him. Stan figured he was a good man to keep on his side, and who knows, maybe this ‘Neropian junk’ would help Rick to open up to him about where his brother could be.

At least, that’s what Stan hoped would happen. In actuality what happened was they both snorted a little more than was sensible, put the juke-box on full volume and blasted it into the tannoy. The whole house jumped to life and didn’t die back down until early the next morning.

Stan woke up slowly, achingly piecing together whatever shreds of last night he could. He remembered dancing, most of what he could remember was dancing, he had a few flashes of things falling, pots breaking, god-knows what else. There was something in his hand. Was that a memory or was that happening now? He slowly pulled his eyes open and forced himself to focus. It was a challenge. He tried to hold his hand closer to his face. What was that? There was something in his hand but he couldn’t quite figure it out. It was hard, and brown, almost woody? No, not wood. Bone? Stan adamantly hoped it wasn’t bone. He forced himself to focus with everything he had.

Antlers…

Annoyed and exhausted by the effort, he dropped the antler on the floor and let his eyes close again.

There was something… warm. There was something warm in his memories. Was warm the right word? Maybe ‘electric’. He remembered a lot of laughing, someone’s face was blurring behind his eyes. Why did his arm feel so heavy? Stan could almost feel a soft tingle behind his eyes, sparking down his back. His leg twitched, pushing him a little closer to consciousness. His arm felt very heavy.. and he couldn’t move it? Stan felt his heart race a little as he wondered if he’s lost his arm, he’d seen weirder things happen to more sensible people when the wrong drugs were involved. The sudden panic and the subsequent change in blood flow made his head pulse painfully, making Stan decide that if he had lost his arm then he could live without it thank you very much.

Then Stan tried to roll over in bed and found that he couldn’t. He felt his shoulder tug uncomfortably. He knew that feeling all too well, it had been a while since he felt it, but it was unmistakably the weight of another human. In his bed. On his arm. Surprised, He stiffly spun his head over to see the fuzzy blob that was definitely a person on his arm. He blinked rapidly, trying urgently to clear the haze and see exactly who it was. Then it sunk in.

He didn’t need to blink anymore, his vision didn’t need to clear. He knew exactly who was on his arm. A flash from last night bubbled up in his memory, the feeling of warmth, a pressure at the base of his spine, and Rick laughing and gasping underneath him.

Stan closed his eyes and tried desperately to go back to sleep, hoping he could forget all about this again.

It didn’t work.

“Fuck.”

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on my tumblr @sanandrogynous


End file.
